


Decay

by Zai42



Series: Promptober 2019 [7]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Corruption, Disease, Gore, Gross, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Other, Violent Sex, rot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-07 16:21:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20978834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zai42/pseuds/Zai42
Summary: He isn't going to tell Gertrude this part.Prompt: Burst





	Decay

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for MAG 157. Mind the tags.

The heat was what Adelard focused on. A survival mechanism, most likely - focus on the hellish fever-heat and not on the unwholesome texture of Amherst's skin, the stench of warm rot, the damned half-second of disgusted hesitation that had lead to his downfall. He lay now on the pavement, damp with unspeakable fluids, while Amherst pinned him down with his hips and his hands, leering at his masked face with hunger in his cataract-filmed eyes.

  
The syringe, at least, Adelard had knocked away, and Amherst seemed content to ignore it. That was...perhaps a mixed blessing, as it meant Amherst's attention was fully on Adelard himself. His movements had a terrible methodical nature to them as he plucked away at the hazmat suit; he was so desperately thin, but one spidery hand held Adelard's wrists easily, unbothered by his flailing struggles. His touch burned, and the material of the hazmat suit grew slick and soft under it, as if it were decaying. As if the plastic itself had become infected.

  
Adelard twisted, fighting back panic as his mask was pulled away - he had always known he might die at the hands of some awful monster, but dear God, not this one, not like _this -_ and Amherst smiled at him, terribly gentle. He ran the back of his hand along Adelard's jaw, the way a lover might, and Adelard screamed.

  
The pain of it was slick and visceral - his heart pounded wildly in his chest - he thought of the bodies - of the organs exposed and frantic and working still - and for a moment he nearly lost himself to utter terror.

  
(The thought of Gertrude yanked him back. She wouldn't panic. She wouldn't have gotten caught, but she was steel and ice and the thought of her in this melting, fever-dream world banked his panic, just enough.)

  
Amherst's hand had dipped lower, plucking aside Adelard's clothes to get to bare skin. He was humming to himself, something low and tuneless; he pinched at Adelard's skin, testing the elasticity of it, and each touch sent a new wave of nausea through him, a sharp jolt of sensation to over-sensitized nerves. He released Adelard's wrists and Adelard let his arms fall limply at his sides. Let Amherst think him incapacitated with horror - maybe he would drop his guard.

  
Amherst peeled away the remains of the hazmat suit and Adelard's clothes, his palms splaying out over his chest, and Adelard groaned through his teeth. He could feel the fever sinking into his skin, settling in his joints; still distant, but a pulsing, oleaginous heat, aching and dripping. Amherst's skin felt uncomfortably _liquid,_ leaving slime trails of itself behind where ever he touched, coating his prey in a thin film of filth.

  
Even so, Adelard got the distinct impression he was being - toyed with. Amherst was powerful, he could have destroyed Adelard outright, pumped him so full of disease that he fell apart at the seams - but he was taking his time, pressing his fingers into vulnerable places, and Adelard grit his teeth and forced himself to bear it.

  
The first twist of Amherst's fingers inside him sent a wracking shudder down his spine, his body twisting up in an involuntary spasm of disgust. Amherst slammed him back onto the pavement with a wet thud. Adelard breathed hard against the urge to vomit and stared up at a scrap of untainted sky.

  
Amherst draped himself over Adelard in a lazy sprawl, sinking into his skin and muscle and bone marrow. The wet, writhing heat of him was overwhelming, and Adelard choked back a shriek; his body opened easily, loosened and slick with unspeakable things, his flesh helpless and failing. Amherst drew his tongue along the shell of Adelard's ear and he nearly fainted then and there.

  
The slime around and inside him pulsed in time with the unfortunate hearts of Amherst's victims. Adelard could feel himself sticking to the pavement, and, tentatively, tried to squirm away. Amherst made a low, sticky noise and held him down more tightly, but his hips jumped, the viscous mess throbbed, and Adelard burst into theatrical struggles.

  
Amherst cackled, a sound like an oil slick, and pinned Adelard with one bony hand. His fingers sank into his flesh with a sucking, slopping sound, and Adelard indulged himself in a scream. He fed Amherst his terror in tantalizing bites; he struggled uselessly, groaned and begged and let his breath catch; and Amherst devoured it eagerly, giving him more and more, losing himself in the slow undoing of his newest victim.

  
Amherst's twisted pleasure was nearly unbearable to watch, but Adelard did not have the luxury of closing his eyes. He watched carefully, struggling through the pain and the nausea and the throbbing fullness. Amherst's touches grew more and more frantic, less methodical; the wild heat inside Adelard pressed deeper; his control over himself slipped, and Adelard cried out in disgust as a thick glob of Amherst's skin dripped onto his stomach.

  
The thick, pulsing ooze of Amherst's release was nearly enough to make Adelard genuinely retch, the feel of it filling him before spilling out, rolling down the slicked flesh of his thigh. Amherst, though, was panting and slumping in satisfaction, and Adelard scrambled away.

  
It wasn't hard to keep his movements agonized and desperate; he crawled away, one hand over the other, palming the syringe without breaking stride. Amherst's hand closed around his ankle; Adelard left scraps of himself in oozing strips on the pavement when he was dragged back into his embrace, but he didn't hesitate this time. The syringe sank easily into Amherst's spongy skin, and it was Amherst's turn to scream.

  
When it was finished, when he was collapsed in the cement mixer and had emptied his stomach of its contents, he could feel the Eye turn to him. He didn't have the strength for anger. "Keep me alive," he rasped. "Just long enough to burn it all down. Just long enough not to go...like this. And I will tell you..." Well. Not everything. "I will give my statement," he said. Some things Gertrude didn't need to know, and he had nothing left for the Eye to take, so it would have to be content.


End file.
